Early spring, 3020 third age
Lothíriel gazed around the crowded hall, leaning against the cool stone wall. It was twilight and the doors to the Merethrond were open to allow the early summer breeze into the crowded feast hall. Today had been her cousin Faramir's wedding to the White Lady of Rohan and it seemed that all inhabitants of both Gondor and Rohan had shown up for the grand affair. Lothíriel had not seen her cousin so happy and took part in the celebration with enthusiasm. But now, as the day wound down and after Lothíriel had danced with an uncountable number of men, she felt the need for a respite and time to get away from personal interactions. As Amrothos would say, Lothíriel was like the small rock crabs along the shoreline of their home; she would come out and enjoy the day but when she had reached her limit, back into her shell she would go.
Lothíriel looked around the room again, meeting the eyes of Amrothos. Her brother was laughing and seeming to have a wonderful time with some of the younger men of Rohan and a few of Imrahil's Swan knights. Almost as if he read her thoughts, Amrothos gave Lothíriel a knowing wink and tapped the brooch at the throat of his tunic. The brooch was shaped like a shell and Lothíriel rolled her eyes. Her brother knew her too well; almost to a fault. So with those thoughts fueling her, Lothíriel worked her way through the crowd, making for the gardens outside the Merethrond.
After being stopped to exchange pleasantries with several Lords and Ladies, Lothíriel finally made it out into the night air. The coolness of the early spring night was refreshing and Lothíriel could already feel herself relaxing. Without further thought, Lothíriel started walking through the early greenery and flowers, making her way to the outlook. She passed several couples hidden in the nooks and archways of the garden on her way and startled several from their amorous pursuits. She walked quickly past each couple she encountered, her cheeks burning as if she had been the one caught in the act. Thankfully though, Lothíriel soon walked out of the trained plants and shrubs to the white stone of the Outlook without further embarrassing encounters.
The Outlook was one of Lothíriel's favorite places in Minas Tirith. It gave Lothíriel a sense of freedom and a feeling of being closer to home when she looked out over the plains and on the city below. Though she could only see the wide ribbon of the Anduin, the sight of the water made the confines of the White City seem a little less tight. In Lothíriel's mind, nothing could compare to the sea breeze that would sweep up from the shores of Dol Amroth and blow through her father's palace, bringing with it the scent of salt and seaweed.
As her eyes sought out the horizon, Lothíriel did not notice the man standing upon the outlook until he turned toward her. She knew who it was instantly; the man's broad shoulders and flaxen hair only added to the powerful presence that was king Éomer of Rohan. She had met the man officially and had seen him several times in the past year, as she helped her cousin Faramir plan his wedding. But for all the times Lothíriel had been in the king's presence, she had yet to feel comfortable in his daunting aura. Lothíriel hesitated as the king studied her; his blue eyes were intense and his expression unreadable.
"My lord, forgive me for interrupting your solitude," Lothíriel felt heat rise to her cheeks at the man's continued gaze. She gave the king a small smile and turned to leave but turned back when the king spoke.
"You are welcome to share in this solitude, as you put it, Princess, for sometimes peace is better shared with a companion," The Rohir king's voice was deep and had a powerful ring that did not brook any argument. Though his voice held a note of seriousness, when Lothíriel looked up, the king's expression was open and friendly. He stepped a little to the side, giving Lothíriel a better place to stand next to him. Lothíriel nodded her thanks and stepped up to the wall of the outlook. She looked down upon the city and out onto the plain, hearing the familiar howl of a dog. Lothíriel sighed; her faithful companion, Huan, must be feeling the restrictions of society as well.
"That is an interesting sound; one might think you wished to escape the merriment of those in the hall," The Rohir king said, a note of humor in his rich voice. Lothíriel looked up at the man quickly, smiling when she saw the slight twinkle in the king's eye.
"I also note that you, my lord are out here as well," Lothíriel said, casting a fleeting smile at the king when she heard another lonesome howl. "I find that after some time, the gayety of the occasion and those around me drown out all my thoughts. I sometimes need a respite from those more easily joyful than I," Lothíriel added. "My brother, Amrothos, often likens me to a crab that retreats into its shell when it encounters something unpleasant,"
Lothíriel turned a little toward the king, noticing the puzzled expression on his face. He quickly noticed Lothíriel's scrutiny and a small smile spread across his face.
"I admit, I have not seen the creature of which you speak; I fear your brother's metaphor is lost on me," The king smiled again and for a moment, Lothíriel could not look away from the man's face. He was quite handsome, in a wild sort of way, and she wondered why she had never noticed before. The king must have noticed Lothíriel's prolonged silence, for his smile broadened somewhat and a roguish twinkle came into his eyes. Lothíriel immediately looked away, her face suddenly blazing.
The wedding must be affecting me too; or the wine. Lothíriel thought with chagrin. She chanced a glance back at the king and saw that he was still smiling. Thankfully, even from a distance, Huan came to Lothíriel's rescue, sending another howl into the night air.
"That is a lonely sound; if I were back in Rohan, I would be searching for the wolf responsible for that noise,"
"Well then I am certainly glad that we are not in Rohan, for that is my hound howling," Lothíriel looked up at the king, her eyes wide. The thought of anyone hunting and killing Huan made her heart drop like a stone. Her expression must have showed as much for the king of Rohan's eyes widened some.
"I did not know that noble ladies kept hounds as companions; I apologize if you think I meant your animal any harm,"
"No, my lord, you do not need to apologize; it's only that I raised Huan from a pup and he is very dear to me. The thought of his death caught me unawares. I am not usually so melancholic; the wedding has made me nostalgic," Lothíriel looked out over the city again, pressing her lips together tightly; she was rambling and doubted the king cared overmuch about her emotions. But when the king spoke again, he contradicted Lothíriel's previous thoughts.
"I understand feeling melancholic; it is not every day that your only sister marries. I admit, I was seeking this solitude else I drown my nostalgic thoughts in too much drink and be no use to my sister at all," The king of Rohan admitted, drawing the young woman's gaze upward.
"She will be alright, my lord; Faramir will take care of her," Lothíriel said, having great faith in her dearest cousin.
"You seem to have read my mind," the king said, after a short moment of silence. The young woman's astuteness was not lost on the man and he wondered if he was as transparent as he felt.
"When Elphir, my eldest brother was married, I felt the same way, even though I was yet a little girl," Lothíriel said, laughing to herself. "I was sure Alarwen was not going to take care of my brother and that he would hate being married. Thankfully, I was wrong," Lothíriel laughed, and looked up at the king. He was studying her with approval and Lothíriel was thankful for the darkness of the night to hide the blush that refused to leave her cheeks. The king must have seen Lothíriel's discomfort for a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Lothíriel's mind raced for a safer topic; Huan howled again and Lothíriel spoke the first thought that came to mind.
"Elphir and Alarwen have a son who is nearly three and he loves Huan, my hound, to death. Huan tolerates him with great patience but it is often quite a sight when Alphir jumps upon him,"
There Lothíriel launched into a story of her nephew's latest debacles with Huan and how the toddler had spilled an inkwell upon the patient hound, and then led Huan through all the halls of their home. All the while, the king of Rohan listened in silence, bemused more by the woman than the story she told.
She certainly carried herself like the princess she was, but sometimes there was seriousness to her expression that one would almost call distant. From several of the flightier maidens of Gondor, that had flocked to him at the various functions and celebrations of his sister's wedding, Éomer had heard, in their opinions that Lothíriel was serious and a little stuck up when it came to society. And always as an afterthought, they would add that she had an unnatural attachment to animals, especially that great grey hound that was always at the Princess' heels. Éomer had recognized the cat-like undertone of malice in the words of the females about him but still wondered if their assessments of the Princess' personality were true. On their few previous social interactions, Éomer had noted that the Princess was always a little serious when she was around him but was always kind when spoken to, and always eager to help. Though he had not seen the hound that people spoke of, listening to the princess' story proved that fact to be true.
Éomer continued to study the Princess as she spoke, noticing, not for the first time, that she was quite beautiful. Her life next to the sea had given her skin a golden glow that made her dark hair stand out more strongly. She carried the same grey eyes as most of her family and her cousin Faramir, but hers were tinged with a green color that Éomer could not name. She was not overly tall either but her elegant frame and graceful curves gave credence to the fabled elven ancestress of her forefathers. Éomer had to admit that the Princess' looks alone would be enough to intimidate any man but coupled with her frequent solemn expression, she would certainly be thought unattainable by most. Now, especially tonight, as the Princess was dressed in an elegant gown of silver and midnight blue, Éomer could see why other females could feel threatened by Lothíriel.
She would be a prized catch for any man. Éomer thought, not noticing that the princess had fallen silent.
"Have I lost you, my lord?"
Lothíriel's voice pulled Éomer from his musings and he suddenly felt a little flustered.
"Please forgive me; I am not normally so easily distracted," Éomer covered, chagrin at himself rising. The king hoped the Princess could not see that she was the reason for his wandering thoughts.
"Well, if you were any of my brothers, you would have stopped me once you had become tired of my words. Speaking of the antics of small children and dogs is hardly exciting to most peoples," Lothíriel shot the king a serious glance but there was laughter in her eyes. Éomer smiled when he realized the Princess was teasing him and chuckled to himself. The Princess looked up at the king and smiled. It was a genuine expression and her smile was dazzling, even in the darkness. Éomer smiled back, stuffing down the errant butterfly that escaped his warrior's control and fluttered in his chest. He inwardly blamed the Mead he had consumed earlier for the less than masculine feeling and was about to excuse himself when he heard someone running through the gardens behind them. In an instant, his warrior instinct came to the fore and Éomer turned quickly to see who came to them.
"Lothíriel!" a voice called out from the gardens and the Princess turned as well, to see who called her name. Amrothos suddenly stumbled through an archway of greenery, having to stop to extricate himself from the vine that he had stumbled into. Then the Prince righted himself with as much decorum as a slightly inebriated man could manage and looked at Lothíriel.
"Lothíriel! They are about to do the Toss and Faramir wants you to be there!" Amrothos said, drawing a sound that Éomer would call a groan from the Princess. Amrothos then noticed the Rohir king standing next to Lothíriel and a grin broke out onto his face.
"I'm sure your sister would want to see you at the Toss as well, my lord," Amrothos said, his smile turning somewhat mischievous. Lothíriel recognized the look and walked to her brother before his excessive joviality hit its stride.
"You know I really do not want to do this, but for Faramir's sake, I will," Lothíriel said, linking her arm with her brother's. That only silenced her brother for a moment and Lothíriel had to stifle another groan as Amrothos smiled and beckoned to the king once again.
"Its tradition, my lord. And this will be the last time you see your sister as a…" Amrothos' words ended in a pained grunt as Lothíriel's elbow connected with her brother's ribs. Éomer did not know if he should be offended at the younger prince's cut off insinuations or laugh at Lothíriel's actions. The king chose to laugh, knowing the latter option would throw him back into his melancholic state of mind. The Princess must have heard Éomer chuckle, for she cast an apologetic look at the king as her brother led her away.
Within a few minutes, Amrothos and Lothíriel were working their way back through the crowded hall, making their way towards the dais. Upon the dais, Faramir and Éowyn stood hand in hand, casting each other meaningful looks. In Faramir's hand was a braided garter of green ribbons and Éowyn held a small bouquet of spring flowers. Faramir caught sight of his youngest two cousins and sent Amrothos and Lothíriel a beaming smile. He then leaned towards Éowyn, whispering something that caused her to smile in a way that Lothíriel would only call conspiratorial. After a few more moments of jostling and people yelling the couple their well-wishes, the count finally went down and the newlyweds threw their items into the crowd. As if Éowyn had done it intentionally, her bouquet flew through the air landing in Lothíriel's outstretched hands. A loud cheer rang out behind her and Lothíriel could not stifle a groan when Amrothos gave her his most irksome grin and pointed over her shoulder. When Lothíriel turned, none other than the king of Rohan was standing behind her, and in his hand, he held the braided green garter.
"It seems we have won the toss, Princess," The king of Rohan said, working the braided loop in his large hand. Lothíriel suddenly felt heat rush to her face, for she knew the other part of the tradition. The king of Rohan seemed to as well, and a self-satisfied smile turned up the corners of his mouth. He stepped closer to the Princess and gave her a conspiratorial wink. Then without further ado, Éomer leaned in, giving Lothíriel a kiss.
The flavor of honeyed mead upon the king's lips and the masculine scent rising from his skin made Lothíriel's head spin. She stood still, stunned and unable to think. Lothíriel could hear laughs and cheers as the king kissed her but she could not make herself care. Something about the king's lips upon hers drove every sensible thought from Lothíriel's head and made her legs feel like jelly. A strange feeling spiraled through Lothíriel, like she was falling from a great height; it was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. All too soon for Lothíriel's liking though, the kiss was ended and the king of Rohan leaned back from her. Lothíriel felt suddenly breathless and when she opened her eyes, the king's face was merely inches away. There was a strange gleam in the man's eyes and Lothíriel could almost feel the heat from his gaze.
"It was a pleasure, Princess," Éomer whispered in Lothíriel's ear. He then stepped all the way back, lifting Lothíriel's hand that held Éowyn's bouquet into the air. The Horselord cheered with the crowd, drawing Rohirric exclamations from several of his riders that stood close by. Lothíriel still felt breathless and her face flamed as all eyes turned upon her and the king.
"Your fates be forever entwined and blessed!" Faramir and Éowyn's voice rang over the din, yelling the familiar blessing to those who had won the toss. Lothíriel looked back to her cousin and she would have wagged a finger at the smug look Faramir gave her. But Lothíriel could not make her mind work fast enough to chastise her cousin, as her hand was still being held by the king of Rohan.
Lothíriel turned back to the king, feeling more and more conspicuous the longer he held her hand. But then another loud cheer rang up from the crowd and the sea of people parted for Faramir and Éowyn to run through. Éowyn, waved to her brother at the doors of the hall, then the newlyweds disappeared quickly into the night. There were cheers and many glasses rose to the new couple as they departed but as soon as the more vociferous of the well-wishers fell silent, the mood of the hall became instantly bittersweet.
Lothíriel stood in the silence, some sense finally making its way back into her mind, and with it, embarrassment quickly followed. Lothíriel chanced a look to her side, something akin to panic springing to her heart when she saw the king of Rohan still beside her. The king suddenly turned to Lothíriel, holding the braided garter out to her.
"A token, Princess," Éomer bowed slightly, a sudden intensity in his eyes. Lothíriel had no choice but to take the silken garter from the king's hands. The fire that had blazed in Lothíriel's face at the king's kiss returned full force and she looked away quickly, the panicky feeling growing inside her chest.
"It was a pleasure, my lord," Lothíriel said quickly, curtsying and turning away from the man with as much haste as was polite.
"The pleasure was all mine," Éomer whispered, wondering what he had done to scare the princess away.
Though Éomer wished to see his sister after she and Faramir returned from their honeymooning, he knew his people needed him and had left for Rohan the morning after Éowyn's nuptials. His company were all in a lighthearted mood and the traveling was easy. They made good time and that night, camped in a wide hollow next to the Anduin. Éomer was sitting outside his tent, watching the fire when a rider approached him.
"My lord, a messenger from Minas Tirith just arrived; he asked me to give you this message and he waits for your reply," The rider handed Éomer a leather-bound parchment and stepped back a discreet distance. The leather was embossed with a silver swan and as Éomer unwrapped the parchment, he found a single page, filled completely with flowing, efficient script. With a small amount of trepidation, he began to read.
To Éomer, King of the Mark and trusted Ally of the Southern kingdom,
Greetings. I first must apologize for the unexpected nature of this missive, for it comes after the subtle inquiries of your lord Elfhelm and my liege-lord Elessar. They asked me to preface the coming request with that you merely take it into consideration; they only have your best interests at heart. The matter though, I am about to address involves one close to my heart, and I ask you to examine and meditate on this request before deciding your actions and to be wary of a rash decision. This request, though for now, secret, may be to your advantage, as the kingdoms of men recover from the War. I foresee it will foster a stronger tie of brotherhood between the peoples of Rohan and Gondor.
Your lord Elfhelm has mentioned from time to time that the house of Eorl is in dire straits, having only your sister, the lady Éowyn and you, to its name. It is a sad state, and I express my condolences again at the loss of your esteemed uncle and fellow king. War takes without regard and the losses of the recent fight are most bitter. Lord Elfhelm wishes life to the line of your family, for he feels it his burden to see that you flourish in your kingship. I ask you to regard his concern with peace and empathy, for he only desires what is best for you. King Elessar as well, voiced nigh on the same concerns for you and your father's house, but out of brotherly love and a desire for you to experience the same joy he has now.
If you have not already guessed at the drawn out purpose of this missive, I will tell you now.
My daughter, Lothíriel, is of an age to marry and none have spoken for her. I observed your- interactions- with her at your lady sister's wedding. You both seemed to have found an understanding in each other, at least to the point of being comfortable acquaintances. But I will say, though it would pain me to see my only daughter leave me, that it was my own mind that thought up this proposal before the lords Elfhelm and Elessar spoke to me. It is my intention to offer you my daughter's hand. This may seem abrupt and repulsive to you, for I know in the Mark, you more often than not, wed for love but I ask you to consider the possibility. Loving relationships start on a foundation of respect and honesty, and I know my daughter thinks highly of you in the short time she has known you. I as well, have seen the strength of your character and know that you would provide a stable home for my daughter.
One stipulation I will add, for my love for my only daughter constrains me to write this. I am going to approach her privately and tell her of this possible arrangement, as is only right. If she is amenable to the terms, we will meet sometime and go over further arrangements. If she refuses though, be it out of pure obstinacy or even out of her summation of your character, I will not force her to follow through with the marriage. By the time this letter reaches you, I will have already spoken to her. If you receive a letter in my hand soon after this one, it will only be her refusal and I will trouble you no longer. But if you are agreeable to the terms, I ask that you reply in your own hand as hastily as is possible and we will proceed with arraignments. I charged the messenger to stay until he received your reply and I hope he is welcome among your men for his short stay.
Again, I thank you for entertaining this missive and apologize if it offends your better judgment. Please reply without delay.
Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth and advisor to the King of the Reunited kingdom.
Éomer read the letter again, wondering if the flickering flames had caused him to misread the letter's intent. But the words remained the same as they had been before and he let out a tense breath. After a few moments of silence, the memory of kissing the Princess floated to Éomer's mind and he smiled. He knew that to base his decision solely on their kiss would be unwise, but Éomer could not stop the thought that it would be nice to kiss the princess again. Shaking his head, Éomer sat in silence for a few more moments, weighing the choice before him. He briefly wondered if he should ask the opinion of Elfhelm, as he was his chief advisor but Éomer knew what the older man would say. Letting out a deep breath, Éomer knew his decision. He only hoped he was not acting rashly, as Imrahil had cautioned but the Princess' kiss floated back to memory and he felt a strange peace.
"Elfhelm," Éomer called. The older man was instantly at Éomer's side and he wondered if he already knew what weighty decision Éomer had made.
"Find me a quill and parchment,"
Lothíriel knocked upon her father's study, having read his hand-written note that he had placed upon her dresser sometime earlier that morning. Lothíriel had not heard him enter her room but their house in Minas Tirith was unfamiliar to Lothíriel and she was not used to its sounds. And she had gotten to bed late because of Faramir's wedding the night before so she had been asleep as one dead.
"Come in," Imrahil called. Lothíriel opened the door quietly, peeking around the door.
"You wished to see me father?"
"Yes, yes. Come, sit down," Imrahil rose from his desk, motioning to the wide window seat at the end of the small room. Lothíriel sat with some trepidation, having noticed the strange light in her father's eyes. Imrahil sat down across from Lothíriel, studying his daughter.
"You look so much like your mother," Imrahil said, his voice quiet. Lothíriel looked at her father carefully. She then noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and wondered if he had slept at all the past night.
"Father, are you well? You look tired," Lothíriel asked, laying her hand upon Imrahil's arm.
"I am fine, daughter; I only have much on my mind," Imrahil patted Lothíriel's hand, taking a deep breath. He looked up then and his expression was serious.
"I wanted to talk to you because I want to tell you of a matter that could affect your future," Imrahil took another deep breath then plunged onward. "I have written to the king of Rohan to ask him to consider an arranged marriage. That marriage would be to you, Lothíriel," Imrahil's grip became tight upon Lothíriel's hand and she was glad for his touch for it seemed to be the only thing keeping her upon her seat.
"You wish for me to marry the King of Rohan?" Lothíriel asked, her voice a whisper. Shock was still rippling through her body and she suddenly felt like her world had been tilted on its axis. For a moment, she wondered if her father had suddenly decided to become a jokester like Amrothos but when she looked into his eyes, she knew he was telling the truth.
"I am sorry for the abruptness of this request but your marriage in general has been on my mind recently and I only wish for you to be taken care of and provided for with a good husband,"
"And the king of Rohan is your first choice?" Lothíriel asked, working hard to keep the incredulous edge off her voice. Imrahil nodded.
"The king, Éomer, is a strong man, in both body and conviction. In his short reign, I have seen his mettle tested and he has come away stronger. And though he is prone to strong temper, his morals are upright. This union would also strengthen the ties between Gondor and Rohan; a thing that both kingdoms need desperately," Imrahil paused, and a small smile came to his face. "But as a father, I will tell you that it is hard for me to willingly relinquish you to any man, for I may always find some way they have fallen short in their care of you," Imrahil looked up at Lothíriel and there was a smile in his eyes.
"But you find the king to be the one you would choose for me?" Lothíriel asked, her mind still not comprehending what her father just said. Imrahil smiled at Lothíriel again, seeing the strain and confusion in her eyes.
"One more thing I must tell you, that I also told the king of Rohan: If you, Lothíriel, find this completely repugnant to you, or have found Éomer's character lacking, you can refuse and the matter will never be brought up again," Imrahil gave Lothíriel's hand a squeeze and stood. "There is a copy of the letter I wrote upon my desk, if you wish to read it. I will give you some time to think it over," Imrahil then left, quietly shutting his study door. Lothíriel sat upon the window seat for some time, her mind mulling over what her father had told her. After a while, she walked over to her father's desk, finding the copy of the letter. She walked back to the window seat, reading the letter by the light of the early afternoon sun. Everything her father had told her was mirrored in the letter.
"He wishes for me to marry the king but gave me the chance to refuse," Lothíriel mused out loud, rolling the letter in between her hands. She was baffled by her father's choice but at the same time saw the political wisdom in an arranged marriage. Lothíriel did not know nearly as much as she would like about the king of Rohan, but that was only because they had little in common and were rarely in the same place at the same time. And with the War wounds only beginning to heal in both countries, there had been little time for courtly socializations. But then, Lothíriel thought of the king's piercing blue eyes and the easy way he had smiled at her when they spoke. She also remembered the gleam of admiration in his eyes after he had kissed her. If marriage was decided upon looks, Lothíriel knew that she could be shallow enough to choose the king of Rohan. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.
Then again, Éomer, king or not, was a man, and Lothíriel had overheard enough of her brother's crude jesting to know where the majority of men's thoughts lay. The thought of a physical relationship with a man she hardly knew, sent a spiral of terror through Lothíriel and she crumpled the letter in her hands. Handsome or not, the thought of baring herself, body and soul, to the man set Lothíriel to quaking.
"That is not all a marriage is founded on; stop being silly," Lothíriel scolded herself, taking a deep breath and pushing her fearsome thoughts away. "What are the pros that I know?" Lothíriel asked herself, trying to think logically.
"It would foster good relations between our two kingdoms. I would be able to help him lead his people and be a support to him. He is a strong man with convictions and I know he will care for me well," Lothíriel stopped, realizing she was pacing the floor.
"And the cons are: I do not know the man, I will be leagues from my family and the only home I've ever known, and…" Lothíriel stopped, not wanting to think of anything else. With a sigh, she sat back on the window seat. She sighed again, watching all the comings and goings of their modest, Minas Tirith home. Amrothos was walking about the courtyard, followed by Lothíriel's shaggy hound, Huan. Lothíriel absently wondered if the hound had lost interest in waiting for her to return to her room where she had left him earlier. Amrothos was Huan's next favorite after Lothíriel and she laughed as she watched her brother try to shoo the hound away. With a sudden clarity, Lothíriel knew what her decision would be. Rising, she walked out of the study to find her father.
A/N: I know Éomer and Lothíriel's story has been done numerous times and in numerous ways. I just had to get this little bee out of my bonnet, so to speak, and have a swing at my version of their story. They are just too fun not to write about. :)